There was an awkward silence as Brianna kept sipping her juice, her hands tightly holding the glass. Across the table, William stood hands in his pockets, uncertain whether to remain standing or sit. After a few seconds of hesitation, he finally took the seat opposite her.
He reached for the serving dish and helped himself to a modest portion of roasted chicken and vegetables, the scent of rosemary and garlic filling the quiet space. "Martha, the housekeeper, prepared this earlier," he said casually, breaking the silence. "She was worried you might not be hungry after a long day on set."
He didn't mention that he was the one who called Martha that afternoon and asked her to make some roasted Chicken, Bri's favourite.
Bri looked at the food, then at him. "That's kind of her," she said. "Now I feel bad I already ate at the restaurant. Anna, Jake, and I."
William gave a small nod, hiding his disappointment. "Of course."
Still, she picked up her fork, cutting a small piece of the chicken. "It smells good," she said after a pause. "It will be rude not to try it, right?"
She took a bite, slow at first, then another, and the next thing she knew, she had eaten a big piece.
William tried not to smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he watched her. There was something refreshing about how easily she forgot herself in that moment, the way her shoulders relaxed as she reached for another bite.
"Is it that good?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, mid chew, a faint blush touching her cheeks. "Very. You can tell Martha it's perfect. And thank her for me."
He leaned back slightly. "I will." He continued. You know, you can call the house any day while on set and tell her what you'd like to eat."
"Really? Maybe I will." She sounded more excited than she intended.
They ate quietly for a few more minutes after that. Bri's fork moved more naturally now, her earlier tension easing little by little. Every now and then, she glanced up at William. He looked tired , worn down in a way she hadn't expected. Maybe it was the weight of running a company, or maybe it was the endless media pressure. Or perhaps it was last night.. the rumors might be true. Maybe Kate kept him awake all night.
Her heart tightened at the thought, and she stole another glance at him. He was nothing like the boy she met when she was nine. Back then, he was all smiles and easy laughter. Now, at twenty Five, William Whitmore was composed, reserved, and impossibly handsome in a way that made her chest ache. His face had sharpened with age and his jawline was more defined.
Even more so than three years ago, at her grandmother Margaret's burial, when he had stood at the edge of the crowd, offering polite condolences while managing the weight of the family business as its newly appointed vice president.
And now here he was, sitting across from her, the man she had married.
"I wanted to talk to you," William said suddenly, his deep voice pulling her out of her thoughts.